Filoque
by Maryaminx
Summary: What would it take to make Hermione a blood purist? What if Snape grew tired of the game before Harry came to Hogwarts, and decided to make his own? What if Harry's primary desire was to prove himself, despite the cost? Dark Harry&Hermione, HP,HG,SS gen
1. Chapter 1

**Filoque**

**Summary:** What would it take to make Hermione a blood purist? What if Snape grew tired of the game before Harry came to Hogwarts, and decided to make his own? What if Harry's primary desire was to prove himself, despite the cost? Dark, Slytherin Harry and Hermione. Snape, Hermione, Harry gen.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, at all.

**Chapter One**

Hermione Jane Granger was having a Bad Day. It was her eleventh birthday and her parents were both away on business and it had only been after she didn't put up a fuss about them going on her birthday did they that concede that she was grown up enough to stay by herself for the day. After all, Miss Thistlethwaite was just next door and it was only for a day.

Already it was almost noon and her parents had been gone for **hours. **She'd already finished her summer reading list and there was nothing else to do. She was **bored. **Even being angry at her parents wasn't sufficiently distracting. She was sulking on the couch when a shadow appeared in the window by the door, and she leapt up as a knock came.

She peered around the curtain to see a tall dark man standing there with an annoyed expression on his face. Her parents had given her strict instructions regarding strangers and the door, but she figured they would deserve to see her stolen and killed. It would serve them right, being gone on her **birthday.**

She opened the door carefully and peered around it. "May I help you?"

He sneered at her impassively, holding out a heavy envelope. "Hermione Granger?"

She nodded and took it from him. It was made of parchment and sealed with thick red wax stamped with an "H". She opened the door further, beckoning him in as she fetched a letter opener and slit it open.

The man stood in the centre of the living room, looking around with an unimpressed expression as she read the letter with disbelieving eyes.

"Is this—this can't be true!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Really? You've never noticed anything strange happening when you were angry or frightened? Never thought that maybe you were special, extraordinary?"

"I'm smarter than everyone else in my school," she supplied proudly. "I don't think that's magic, though…"

"Nevertheless, you are magical and have thus been invited to study at Hogwarts. If your parents are unable to pay the fees, we have a fund for students of…Muggle heritage whose parents will not provide for them."

"Muggles?" She asked, hands working the envelope nervously. If it were true, what she wouldn't do to go, to make her parents sorry they ever ignored her, show them how special she really was. Leaving her all alone on her birthday, of all days!

"Non-magical people," the man grimaced. "Often we have difficulty with them allowing their children to attend. Some of them feel that their children are possessed, or freaks of some sort, and they must be…persuaded to allow their children to attend."He glanced around again. "Where are your parents? I do not wish to have to stay in a Muggle location any longer than I must, and getting your supplies in London will take some time."

Hermione shifted guiltily. "They aren't here right now. But—" she said, interjecting as he drew himself up, eyes flashing, "I have money! We can go get my supplies and then I can speak to them later!"

He didn't look much convinced, but she could tell that he didn't particularly want to come back, either. She considered some of the things he had said, and tried again. "I'm sure you wouldn't want to have to show Muggles around, either."

He caved, but gave her a look that said he knew what she was doing and was only doing this because he chose to, not because she had successfully manipulated him.

"Very well," he said, "gather your things and we shall go."

She barely restrained a grin as she ran to get her coat and money.

"Ready?" he asked when she returned, a long piece of wood in his hand. She nodded and he grasped her hand.

It felt like she was being squeezed through a tube and when it stopped, she opened her eyes to see a street full of people en strange clothing, with tall hats and robes like nothing she'd ever seen before.

The man, who finally introduced himself as Professor Snape, also had changed his clothes and was wearing a long black robe with many tiny buttons. He wasn't wearing a hat but he appeared to her strange enough as he was.

"First," he told her, "I have to run an errand before we go get your supplies. Where we are going to go they don't like people with your…disadvantaged heritage. I will change your clothing to something more suitable." Here he tapped her on her head with his wand and her shirt and trousers changed into something resembling his, but in a light green color with more flowing skirts. "Don't speak to anyone because little pureblooded witches should be seen and not heard. Clear?"

She frowned but nodded, following him into a little store with a dark interior. The walls were lines with shelves covered in strange things in bottles, with weird little creatures in wire cages.

The man behind the counter was very ugly, and when he spoke he had a thick German accent. "Snape! I wasn't expecting you today."

"Have my ingredients arrived?" Snape asked without preamble.

"Yes, my house elf will bring them now," the man answered, ringing a bell set into the counter before him.

"And who is this?" He asked, turning to Hermione. "It's not very often that such a pretty young witch comes into my store."

"This is my niece, Hermione Prince. She begins Hogwarts this year."

"I see. Do you know which house you'll be sorted into?"

She didn't respond, just looked at him silently as Snape had instructed.

He laughed. "As if there were any doubt."

Snape smiled briefly. "Her parents expect to betroth her to the young Malfoy."

The shopkeeper raised his eyebrows. "Well, if there is anyone who can maneuver the Parkinsons out of such a lucrative arrangement, it would be a Prince."

"Indeed." Snape's expression was closed, but it seemed smug to Hermione.

A strange little creature with large ears and bulging eyes appeared carrying a tray of bottles, which the shopkeeper wasted no time in collecting and shrinking for Snape. Snape in turn handed him a handful of coins in exchange, then slid the bottles into a pouch at his waist.

He led Hermione back out into the sunlight, taking her first to get her wand, then her potions supplies. He explained that he was the Potions Master of the school, and Head of Slytherin House, detailing what qualities were required for entry into his House.

She soaked up as much of the information as possible, but remembered what he had said about speaking out of turn, only interjecting occasionally.

At their final destination, Flourish and Botts, she worked up the courage to ask, "Professor Snape? May I ask a question?"

Snape sneered at her, but acquiesced.

"You didn't seem to like…Muggles very much. Why?"

He considered her carefully, and she felt like she was being measured. She stood a bit straighter and smoothed a hand over her skirts.

A smile flickered across his face and he nodded. "Muggles can be dangerous when faced with things they do not understand, and there is a long history of violence against our community by them. Many of us would prefer to never have contact with them, as they can be unpleasant and do not understand our ways. If you would like, I can give you some books that might better answer your questions."

She bit back an enthusiastic smile and simply nodded her head. "Thank you, Professor."

He loaded her down with books and pamphlets, with instructions on how to procure more, then Apparated them both back to her house. As they stood on the stoop, he turned to her.

"If you were to be Sorted into my House, I would like to offer to…smooth your way, if you like. You would be known as Hermione Prince, my niece. I see great potential in you if you apply yourself to what you have learnt today." He withdrew his wand. "Now, as to your clothes—"

"No thank you," she said, smiling. "I quite like what you've done with them. I will consider your offer, and I am very grateful. Thank you."

He merely nodded back to her, then Disapparated as she let herself back into the house. She left the Hogwarts letter on the table and went upstairs, eagerly opening the first book Professor Snape had suggested to her, _Wizard-Muggle Relations of the Past 500 Years._

When her parents came home that evening, she did not go down to greet them.

* * *

Severus was pleasantly surprised by the owl that winged its way in with the morning post. The Granger girl had been a bit of an experiment, but one with such potential were he to succeed. In the years since the fall of the Dark Lord, he had become rather...bored. He professed no lost love for the madman, but the ideals- He would rebuild this world, he decided, one muggleborn, one light half-blood at a time, and bring the House of Prince back to what it had been before the fall of Grindelwald and the successive Auror raids, and his mother had married a _Muggle_.

He half smiled to himself as he read the missive. She politely informed him that she had read all the information he had given her and also procured several more books of similar kind, and that she would be pleased to accept his offer should she be Sorted into the illustrious House of Slytherin.

Hagrid was sufficiently startled by the sight of Severus smiling that he stumbled while climbing the stairs to the head table, winding up flat on his back, head smacking thunderously onto the stone floor. After Poppy had been called and ordered him under observation for the next two days for fear of hemorrhagic concussion, Albus sighed and turned to Severus.

"I am afraid I must intrude on your plans for the day, my boy," he said, and Snape's mouth curled in a snarl of refusal. Albus stopped him, and once he had explained the duties Hagrid had shunted on him by his unfortunate clumsiness, Snape considered.

The Potter boy was probably a hopelessly lost cause, spoiled and doted upon by his relatives, but it would be worth it merely to put the fear of Snape into the boy even before he set foot in Hogwarts. And if not—he smiled again, ignoring the stunned looks the other professors shot his way—it had gone to well with the mudblood girl. He could always offer him a similar deal if things worked out his way.

* * *

Snape paced around the common room as his House assembled, surveying them and considering how best to put his plan into action now that he had succeeded in the first step: a muggleborn in his House. Hermione had already collected Harry under her slightly bossy wing and were introducing themselves around, herself as Hermione Prince. She skillfully evaded any questions about her blood, and Snape was impressed by the time he called the meeting to order.

"Slytherins," he said, and the room instantly quieted. "Welcome to another years at Hogwarts. This year, however, there will be some…changes that I have devised in order to bring our House back to its former glory. Currently we are unjustly reviled, feared by those weaker than ourselves, and suspected of every wrongdoing at this school."

Snape calmly looked at all of the faces staring at him, then continued. "I have implemented some changes, to this end. Every week I will personally provide you with instruction. Some of these things will obviously be redundant for those of you fortunate to have parents who would instruct you over the summer, being…correctly inclined. "

He sneered at the self-congratulatory smiles some of the less-subtle Slytherins shared. Draco Malfoy, it seemed, had much to learn.

"However," he continued, "I hope to give you a new...perspective regarding this information. None of this is to lease this House, do I make myself clear?" He glared around the room, gaze severe. "The dungeons have privacy charms on them I received from a source I'm sure some of you can guess. Nevertheless, if any of you feel the need to practice this in the school at large, you will undoubtedly be summarily expelled, and I will not fight to keep you enrolled.

"I will lecture all of you once a week. I will assign you readings and exercises to be done in this common room. Before any of you complain," he snapped as a few became restless "I remind you that I am doing this for your benefit, adding to my own workload with no hope of recompense. If any of you choose not to take advantage of my generosity, you will find yourself at the mercy of those who did, and, well—We are all Slytherins here, are we not?"

He drew to a close. "Our sessions will begin on Monday. I expect all of you to be here." He nodded to a tall seventh year girl and she stepped forward. "First years, please follow our house Head Student Anatrix Percival and she will explain the particulars of our House as well as answer any questions you might have. I expect all of you to bring honor and no shame to our House. Miss Prince, please follow me."

She scurried after him, leaving an abandoned-looking Harry Potter. Snape wasn't worried. The boy could stand to learn a little independence, and the first battle had been won. James Potter was undoubtedly rolling in his grave. He spared a moment to remember the terror he had visited upon the boy's family, and the boy's gleeful expression, adding suggestions now and again.

"How is Hogwarts so far?" he asked, leading her into his office. "Any difficulties with regard to your status?"

She shook her head. "No, sir. To everyone I am the daughter of your cousin. I introduced myself to as many of the purebloods as I could on the train, although that Weasley boy—" she wrinkled her nose. "What a waste of blood. I can understand why Draco calls the lot of them blood traitors."

Snape nodded. "I would be much comforted were Muggle blood to be found in their veins, but I will resign myself to helping you overcome yours. We will make this house great again, you and i. If you have any trouble, please come to me. Now, it is very nearly curfew, so run back to your dorm. The others will fill you in on what you've missed."

She stood and curtsied for him, inclining her head in a gesture that wouldn't have seemed out of place on a young Narcissa Black, then left. Good, he thought to himself. She'd been studying the older ways, which would put girls like Parkison to shame. Given a year or two of study, and she might even rival Greengrass.

Tomorrow he would have to set up a plan for his students, and another for Potter specifically, but he went to bed satisfied with what he had accomplished.

* * *

Harry was entranced. Hogwarts was everything he had hoped it would be and more. It was a _magic castle, _ filled with ghosts and talking portraits and all the food he could want. The hat had seemed pleased and amused when he told it that he would like Slytherin, please, because Professor Snape said that it was the best way to show his relatives that he wasn't useless.

Hermione seemed nice enough, and even though Draco seemed like a brat, he had imperiously told his two thugs that Harry was one o them, and was not to be bothered. There was apparently merit to getting on the good side of bully, after all.

He had followed Professor Snape's instructions and read the beginnings of his textbooks already, spending his entire train ride in silence while a redhead with a dirty face stared at him, expression full of awe, turning to jealousy after the snack cart went by. Harry didn't share any of his candy. It was _his,_ he paid for it, and the boy's parents had even packed him a lunch. Harry hadn't gotten breakfast, or even dinner the night before.

Harry quickly learned that image was everything, much as his Aunt Petunia had always insisted. The goal wasn't to look normal, though, it was to look powerful, important. Like a proper pureblood, Draco drawled after he had dragged Harry to Snape when Harry confessed to having no better clothing.

Snape had dragged him back to Diagon Alley the very first Hogsmead weekend, despite him being a first year and not having any sort of permission slip. He scoffed when Harry confessed that they wouldn't sign anything for him anyway.

"As your Head of House, I have temporary guardianship of you, but if it came down to the Wizengamot and those _Muggles _versus any wizard, no Muggle would stand a chance. Especially if the minor involved is the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry blushed and would have protested, but he considered the man's words. "So, I if I was to petition for different, wizarding guardians…"

"You might have difficulty circumnavigating the Headmaster, but if it were to reach the Ministry…"

Harry tucked this away into the back of his mind. Snape had already cautioned the young Slytherins against Albus Dumbledore, talking about favoritism heaped upon the other Houses, and his suspicion toward the Snakes. Harry didn't trust the smiling, twinkling grandfatherly act, either. It reminded him too much of Vernon's public face, where people would coo at him for talking in his poor, orphaned nephew.

Classes progressed, and though the Defense professor was worse than useless, Hermione was always willing to help him with homework or when one of the other pureblood students said something confusing. She never forgot his "unfortunate circumstances", as she referred to his being raised by non-wizards, but was always working with him to be better. It was exhausting, but it was nice to have people expecting something from him instead of writing him off as a juvenile delinquent.

Snape kept them all in the common room every Monday night, as he had promised. The first few nights he lectured on the recent war and current events, as well as the present state of the wizarding world. Harry sat fascinated as Snape detailed the decline of their society in the last hundred years, how much magic had been made illegal, how many of their rituals and traditions that had been eradicated in favor of the encroaching muggleborns. He assigned the older students books and slowly began teaching them spells that whenever Harry tried them out of curiosity, made his veins throb.

The early years were mostly lectured, which most of the other Slytherins quickly tired of, citing having heard it all before. Harry was transfixed, though, and sought out Professor Snape about his parents.

Snape frowned at him across his desk, fingers steepling. "I did not like your father," he finally began. "He was a bully, and a Gryffindor, and the Headmaster's favorite. He made my life hell. You look very much like him, although you are much more like your mother.

"Your mother was very beautiful, and powerful enough that the Dark Lord himself was willing to overlook her tainted blood. However, she was pulled in by your father who did not treat her as a proper pureblooded wife, and as she had not been taught better, she did not expect better. Your father was an Auror who publicly defied the Dark Lord more than once, and there are those who would hold him up as a hero, but…"

He sighed. "You are still very young, Mr. Potter. I do not want to burden you with tales of war, and what things people must do in them. I will tell you more, but not now."

Harry slumped with disappointment, but it was more than anyone else had bothered to tell him, besides that his father was a hero and his mother was beautiful. "Thank you, professor," he said, then went back to his common room to practice some of the spells he'd seen the seventh-years trying. It would make him feel better. _Somnia Rompó_ always gave him a warm feeling in his chest.

* * *

**AN: **So, what did you think? I hope I showed the thought processes well enough that none of it seemed OOC. Please review and let me know if you think that it is worth continuing!

_Somnia Rompó _is a low-level nightmare curse that I shamelessly made up.


	2. Chapter 2

Filoque

Disclaimer: Ya no me pertenece nada.

Chapter Two: The Three Virtues

Hogwarts was beyond anything Hermione had expected, even after devouring everything about the school she could get her hands on. It was hard work, keeping up appearances at all times, and there were so many things she still didn't know, but it was surprisingly easy to bluster and hide behind Harry's ignorance, finding answers in books as a way of "helping him learn for himself".

Snape had asked her to keep an eye out for him, and she didn't really mind, as all the girls in her year were a bit unfriendly, even Daphne, whom Professor Snape had asked her to emulate. She had been instructed not to be overbearing in her instruction, as he told her, "Subtlety is the first Slytherin virtue."

She was still a bit angry with Professor Snape, who had pulled her into his office the second week of classes and held out a hairbrush, suggesting she use it.

"I don't see why I should," she snapped back, actually hurt by his comment. "After all, my Head of House doesn't even_ wash_ his."

His eyes flashed dangerously, but he visibly calmed himself and replied, "That is a fair point. We must _all_ show ourselves to the betterment of Slytherin House."

Then he parked her in the chair behind his desk and wrestled with the bushy mass until it was tied back into a neat, if lopsided, plait. She glared at him as she exited, clutching her abused scalp, but his hair was glossy and sleek the next morning as he had promised. Hermione hated wasting her time with beauty charms, but she meekly requested her year-mates' help during breakfast, in exchange for help with their homework.

Classes weren't very easy, even though she had all but memorized her textbooks. Practical application of spells, with wand-movements and carefully modulated incantations, was difficult. Draco was far better than she, though she had forced him to confess that he had received his wand rather early and was used to it. She still had trouble not holding it like a Biro.

Harry's handwriting was _terrible, _especially because they had to use quills. Hermione had worked tirelessly over the summer to get hers into a semblance of decent penmanship, but every time he sat down with a roll of parchment he wound up with a handful of crushed nibs, covered in ink.

"If I don't improve, Professor Snape said he will be forced to take points," he moaned to her as they sat in the common room, waiting for a Monday night session to begin. "But I just _can't_! Even with a pencil, I'm horrible! And everyone else learned how to write properly, ages ago!"

She counseled him to take it up with Snape, while Draco made disparaging comments about Muggles and penmanship befitting a pureblood. Hermione rolled her eyes at that. She didn't disagree, remembering her own primary school three-lined paper, but he did harp on so.

"At least you're doing well in Charms," she supplied, trying to cheer him up. "It only took you a few tries to get _Wingardium Leviosa. _That Weasley boy never did, and another one of the Gryffindors set his on fire."

They all smiled at the memory.

"It was that mudblood Thomas, right?" Draco asked.

Hermione suppressed a flinch. He wasn't talking about her; she was working to be better than that. She didn't want to make wizards live like Muggles, like all those books Professor Snape had given her had said. She had worked hard every day since she had gotten her letter, working to understand their culture, government, even deportment! Her mother had been a bit unhappy with her demands for finishing classes, but Hermione had been able to pass it off as an opportunity for mother-daughter bonding before she went away to school.

Her back still twinged occasionally with the stress of holding it tightly in the arc she'd seen in all the pictures of pureblooded ladies that were in the books. At least here in school, she could relax under the over-sized school robes, and could also mimic what some of the other girls did, making it less forced and more natural. Millicent wasn't worth watching, although Hermione supposed that it at least made her better than one of them. Pansy and Daphne made snide remarks to one another about "traditionalism" and "modernity", and she began to get a sense as to why Professor Snape wanted her to watch Daphne.

Fortunately at table there was only one set of flatware, and she was surrounded by so many boys that as long as she didn't speak with her mouth full or run her sleeves through the sauce, she would pass.

She wanted to groan. Despite the days and weeks of work she had put in over the summer, she wasn't much closer to being able to fake it. And by now, she was determined to. There was no going back to being Hermione Granger, Muggle-born, sorted into some other House. She was in Slytherin now, Hermione Prince, and the niece of Severus Snape. As she glanced around the common room, looking at the upper years, she thought it might even be worth it.

* * *

Cunning, Draco kept telling him, was the second Slytherin virtue. Harry didn't place much stock in the first one, but he liked the second. He'd had plenty of practice being sneaky, avoiding his cousin when his gang was playing Harry-Hunting, or getting out of his locked cupboard in the middle of the night to get food or water when his aunt had forgotten about him. Draco should probably spend more time practicing the three Slytherin virtues instead of lecturing Harry about them, Harry thought, dragging him away from yet another confrontation with one Ronald Weasley.

"Why do you egg him on like that?" Harry asked as soon as they'd put three corridors and a staircase between them. "You keep saying that he's beneath you, yet you go out of your way to pick on him. It can't just be because he's poor. There are other poor students in Slytherin and Ravenclaw, and you never bother them."

Draco sulked at him, but he refused to budge. Finally, Draco said, "You wouldn't understand. Weasleys and Malfoys have never gotten on, and now Weasley's dad is making things difficult for my father at the Ministry! Finding ways to block his legislations and getting the Aurors to do raids on the Manor! You want me to just ignore that?"

Harry gave him a distinctly unimpressed look. "Is your father that weak?" he asked bluntly.

"What?"Draco all but shrieked. "How dare you suggest—"

"If your father needs the help of his eleven year old son to defend him in the Wizengamot, then maybe he deserves to have trouble with his legislation."

Draco blustered at him for a few more moments until Harry's words sank in. "Oh," he quieted.

Harry nodded. "So can we stop wasting our time winding up Weasley now?"

"I guess." He brightened. "I bet Weasley's going to go nuts, wondering what I'm going to do next, looking for a prank that never comes!"

Harry laughed, following after Draco as he headed for their next class. Honestly, all of Draco's remarks about his father had been getting on Harry's nerves. What did he care about how many house-elves their estate had, or how extensive Lucius Malfoy's influence in the wizarding courts was? Unless they were going to give him an elf for Christmas of course, although he had no idea what he would do with one, except set it to doing all his chores. An elf would have no trouble painting the fence, cleaning the gutters, and mowing the lawn all in one day.

He wondered if he should see what Lucius Malfoy could do for him if he were to apply for new guardians. Professor Snape had heavily implied that Headmaster Dumbledore would do whatever he could to keep Harry stuck at the Dursleys', but Harry had no idea why. His school letter had been addressed to the cupboard under the stairs, and Snape had seen the clothes they had sent him with!

He tucked all this away to be considered later. He could probably stand another summer or two at the Dursleys' if it took that long for him to navigate around the Headmaster.

Transfiguration was pure torture. They were still working on what Professor McGonagall called "small-scale transfigurations", followed by a long string of technical jargon that Harry was sure only the Ravenclaws and maybe Hermione understood. It was matchsticks into needles and other transfigurations where the finished product was nearly identical to the original, with a specific incantation. He wanted to learn how she had changed the desk into the pig. Even when she changed her quill into chalk, the better to lecture them on the dangers of liquid transformation, she only waved her wand lazily toward the feather.

"When do we get to something interesting?" he asked another Slytherin first year, Parkinson or something. She sniffed at him and didn't answer. He shrugged, about to head down to the Great Hall for lunch when an upper-year stopped him.

It was Anatrix, the seventh-year Slytherin to whom Snape delegated all the inner-House administrative tasks. She gave him her perpetually stressed-out smile.

"Hi Potter," she said, holding out a small scroll of parchment. "Headmaster Dumbledore told me to give this to you. He didn't say what it's about."

Harry accepted it slowly, unrolling it and reading the short note.

"He wants me to come to his office," Harry said. "Why's that, do you think?"

"You haven't done anything to get in trouble?"

He shook his head.

"I'll tell Snape then, don't you worry. Get lunch and then go on up."

He scurried off to the Great Hall, worrying about the note. Why would the Headmaster want to see him?

"What's that?" Hermione asked as he slid in next to her at the table and threw the note down next to his plate. He indicated that she could read it while he dug into the sandwich that had popped into existence before him.

She quickly snatched the parchment and looked over it. "Dear Harry, please come to my office….Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump…I am partial to cockroach clusters." She made a scandalized noise. "This is completely inappropriate! Have you told Professor Snape?"

"Why?"He asked through a mouthful of bread. "And Percival said she'd take care of it."

"He called you Harry, even though he's never met you. And all those titles—who is he trying to impress? Not to mention randomly talking about candy in his postscript!"

Harry just shrugged. "I'll see what he wants and then go see Snape straight after, okay?"

She didn't look very happy, but she was still angry with the Headmaster over McGonagall insisting on called her Miss Granger and Dumbledore just looking at her with a disappointed expression in his eyes when she demanded he do something about it. Harry didn't know what the big deal was, and whenever he asked she just got flustered and walked away.

He finished his lunch quickly and shoved an extra apple into his bag, heading out of the Hall. He wandered around the corridors where _thought _it should be, mentally cursing the confusing castle and the Headmaster for not supplying directions. Finally he tracked down a Ravenclaw who led him to a statue of a gargoyle then promptly left him there.

"Great," he said, glaring at the scowling stone creature. "Um…let me in?"

Nothing.

"Move, I have an appointment?"

He had the distinct feeling that he was being mocked.

He pulled the note out of his pocket and waved it at the statue. "See, 'Dear Harry…'" He read the entire note and on the last line it jumped out of the way, with the distinct air of someone who'd had all his fun taken away.

"Huh," said Harry, and walked up the stairs he presumed led to the office.

"Ah, come in, my boy," he heard when he got to the top of the landing. He gritted his teeth. His name was Harry, not boy, and he wished that people would remember that. He stepped slowly into the office, looking around avidly. The walls were covered in portraits, many of them dozing, but a few gazing down at him with shrewd interest. There were shelves full of silver devices, and a strange red bird sitting on a perch by a window.

"That is Fawkes, my familiar," Dumbledore supplied, indicating that Harry should sit. Harry did so, hating the way his feet hung just off the floor.

"What type of bird is Fawkes, Professor?"He asked, not quite willing to find out why he had been called to the office yet.

"Fawkes is a phoenix, a very powerful magical creature. I believe Fawkes donated the feather that is in your wand, as well."

Harry perked up. "Really? Ollivander said that the same phoenix gave the feathers to both my wand and You-Know-Who's. He didn't say it was yours, though."

Dumbledore looked as if he very much had not expected that. "I see; that must have been before Fawkes came into my…possession."

Harry shrugged, still eyeing the bird contemplatively.

"In any case, my boy, how are you settling in here at Hogwarts? I must say, I was surprised by your Sorting. Both of your parents were in Gryffindor."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Really, sir?" He asked, although Snape had of course told him all this already. "I never knew them, you see, and the Hat seemed quite convinced."

Harry, a mere six weeks into his career at Hogwarts, was already more than aware of the prejudice that faced all the Slytherins. Still, it was better to pretend that he had no idea why Dumbledore was not happy that he had been Sorted into Slytherin. He didn't, really, beyond the very basic: Slytherins are bad. What did Dumbledore want from him that needed him dressed in red and gold? He resolved to ask Snape that evening.

The Headmaster asked him a few more questions about his classes, and gave Harry advice he wouldn't take about befriending other first years and the _groundskeeper, _of all people. By the time Dumbledore sent him on his way, he'd already missed most of the afternoon's class, a long session of double Potions. He reluctantly trudged down to the classroom, then waited outside the door until the Slytherin and Gryffindor first years spilled out.

Hermione gave him a relieved smile which he returned weakly. "Everything all right?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Nothing happened…I should probably go talk to Snape, now, though."

She nodded and he took a deep breath, reaching for the door. It opened before he could touch the knob.

"Mr. Potter," Snape said, turning his back and leading him into the classroom. "Sit down." He gestured at the first row of desks.

Harry sat.

"Miss Percival informed me that you were called to the Headmaster's office."

Harry nodded. "Yes sir. He wanted to talk about my Sorting and befriending students from other Houses."

"Gryffindor specifically, I suppose," Snape said drily.

"He wasn't happy that I'm not there and tried to make me feel guilty about it. Does that usually work?"

Snape's sneer would have made a Hufflepuff cry, as Harry was rapidly learning that it could. "On Gryffindors, yes, and quite well. That is perhaps why he is so disappointed that you did not go into that House."

"So he wants to be able to influence me…" Harry considered.

"Precisely."Snape didn't smile at him, but it almost felt like one. "It is rare that the third virtue manifests in one so young, Mr. Potter. Now we only lack discerning for what purpose he wishes to direct you. For the time being, follow his lead as best you can, informing me as necessary. I believe Miss Prince may be of some help to you."

"Draco, too?" Harry asked doubtfully.

This time Snape did smile. "He is a born Slytherin, Mr. Potter, and while it may seem buried deep beneath layers of Gryffindorish bluster, he may also prove useful. You might even be the key to forging him into what he should be."

Harry just nodded. Nothing with Snape was transparent, but despite the suspicion of manipulation, he was content. Unlike the slyness hidden behind twinkling eyes and half-moon spectacles, he understood Snape, even when he didn't know specifics. It was a game he could play, even if he was already in over his head.

* * *

"Why, pray tell, is my _son _sending me letters about his _friend, _Harry Potter_?_" Lucius hissed, stepping out of the Floo, eyes sparking. Severus had been expecting him, of course, but he did wish that the man would be a trifle less impetuous. Draco was all too much like his father in that regard.

He held up a hand. "Stop, Lucius. Think. Your son is an acquaintance of the Boy-Who-Lived. The Boy-Who, at this time, Has-Been-Sorted-Into-Slytherin. What might be advantageous about this?"

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "What are you playing at, Snape? You may have slithered you way out of Azkaban with Dumbledore's blessing, but you forget that I know you, knew you before you became the premiere Occlumens in Britain."

"And yet you believe that I am poisoning this House from within against itself and the Dark Lord?"

"Of course not, this House is your soul—" Lucius stopped, then relented. "Subtlety and cunning, Severus. Am I to understand that you are going back to the old ways?"

"It has been too long since the children were properly educated, and so few of them have parents up to the task. So it falls to me."

Lucius shook his head, pleased in the singularly Slytherin way at having been played so skillfully. "And how does Mr. Potter fir into this scheme of yours?"

Severus just smiled. "Think, Lucius, of what they will do to the child when the Dark Lord returns. Raise him up as a scion for their cause, triumphing the ways of Muggles and mudbloods, the poster boy for the blood traitors, preaching harmony with filth.

"_This _Harry Potter will not allow himself to be used, I think. I do not presume to know what the Dark Lord wishes for him, but this Boy-Who-Lived has no love for Muggles and may be just what we need."

"So in order for him to not be used, you are using him?" Lucius sounded skeptical, but Severus's smile only got wider, teeth shining terribly in the dungeon light.

"I have never seen the third gift manifest itself in someone so young and untrained," he said in a seeming non-sequitur. "I do not even approach it until they are nearing their OWLs."

It seemed he had shocked the other man into speechlessness.

"The boy is uncanny. The Headmaster pulled him into his office, regaling him with tales of his parents. With little direction from me, he divined the man's motives for himself. You know the Headmaster as well as I; there are few students who would not be immediately taken in by him. The fact that Mr. Potter, son of Dumbledore's pet project, from an immeasurably long line of Gryffindors, did not, leads me to believe that there is something more to him. He will bear watching, especially if our Lord seeks to return soon."

Lucius considered this, then changed the subject. "So what's this I hear about a niece, Severus?"

* * *

**AN: **I hope I'm striking a good balance with Harry and Hermione. Harry is quite smart in plot-relevant ways, but not the child of Merlin and Einstein. Hermione has to work really, really hard to pass as a pureblood, even though I am convinced that the regality, etc., associated with purebloods is a completely learned behavior and not something innate. Also, cognitive dissonance is a marvelous thing! She can think that blood matters but explain away her own, just like others from canon, like Voldemort and even Snape. Finally, remember what Harry thinks about Snape: what he says doesn't always match what's going on, he has a deeper game.


	3. Chapter 3

Filoque

Chapter Three

Disclaimer: Wow I'm poor.

The next morning at breakfast, Hermione was poring over the paper, and Draco was cranky. Harry sat silently between them, making patterns on his plate with the egg yolk.

Finally, Hermione smacked him on his knuckles with a rolled-up section of the _Daily Prophet. _"Stop playing with your food!" She admonished.

"But you're not even eating yours," he pouted. "All you're doing is reading the _Prophet _and ignoring me."

"It is important to keep a working knowledge of current events," she said with an air of self-importance. "Plus I wanted to see if there was any news on the Gringotts break-in."

Draco deigned to acknowledge their existence then, leaning over to ask, "Gringotts? But that's supposed to be impenetrable!"

"It said they didn't get anything, at least, but there has been a call on Gringotts by the Ministry to tighten their security."

"Tighten security?" Harry scoffed. "The vaults are hundreds of feet underground, accessible only by horrible little carts, and when Professor Snape took me there, he said some vaults are even guarded by dragons!"

"Snape took you to Gringotts?"

Harry nodded. "He brought my letter then took me to get my books on my birthday. We had to go to Gringotts to get my money."

"That's when the break-in was!" Hermione exclaimed. "July thirty-first! Did you see anything?"

"No, we just went down to my vault and then Professor Snape made me wait in the lobby while he went to his own vault."

Hermione looked speculative, but Harry laughed. "You aren't Sherlock Holmes," he said when she scowled. "You can't solve crimes by reading the personal ads."

"Who's Sherlock Holmes?" Draco asked loudly. Hermione looked like she wanted to respond, but bit it back. Harry wondered why.

"He was a Muggle detective, a genius really. He could solve any crime."

"A Muggle," Draco curled his lip at that. "What do we care if someone steals from Gringotts, anyway? At least it's something to put the Goblins in their place. They think they're so much smarter than wizards, and this shows they can't be, if someone got around their security."

Hermione looked a bit heartened by this, putting the paper away at least and digging into her cold breakfast. "I wonder what the lesson will be about tonight," she said around a mouthful of congealed eggs. Daphne stared at her in horror, but she didn't seem to notice. "His lectures are so interesting, don't you think?"

Draco shrugged. "My father taught me all of this even before I came to Hogwarts; I don't see why I should have to sit in. I have homework due tomorrow, and Weasley has been looking a bit cocky…"

Hermione sent him an icy glare and Harry thought if her eyes were black instead of a soft brown it might actually work. "As you are incapable of even remembering the first virtue, I think you should stay until they start to sink in. You're lazier than a Gryffindor!"

Harry snickered as that set Draco off and they went back and forth for a few minutes. He agreed with Hermione that Draco needed to work on his Slytherin nature. Even with the history lessons, Snape was teaching them the way the wizarding world worked, politics, how to get ahead. Harry sat there every week with wide eyes, sometimes feeling that he was the only one amongst the students who understood what they were receiving.

Even some of the upper years looked bored, only brightening up when Snape set them a new spell. The spells were a bit beyond his ken at this point, as the seventh years set to them with Ravenclaw-like enthusiasm. Still, he kept practicing the ones he could It helped him with his classes, getting used to the wand movements and the feel of the magic as it worked its way through him.

Harry thought that Defense should, by all rights, be his favorite subject. It was active application, and none of the spells in the book seemed completely pointless, unlike Transfiguration. But compared to what Snape had been teaching, the spells in the book were criminally easy, and the Professor never used the book at all! He just talked about his travels and stuttered a lot and smelled disgusting. Harry spent most of the class fantasizing about setting his turban on fire, which he sensed was a common sentiment.

He didn't care how boring Snape was, either. At least he didn't smell like garlic.

* * *

Two months into the school year, and Severus felt that he had run out of material. He hadn't exhausted dark magic by any stretch, but there was only so much that he could teach his students. Dark magic was stronger, more intense, more _everything _than the magic that was taught at Hogwarts. Not every student would be able to do it, either, because it didn't work quite the same way as the more mundane magics and required another way of thinking, of feeling magic.

His mother had taught him when he was a child, as her mother had taught her. The Princes were a very old family that knew the older ways. Even though she had married a Muggle, Eileen always had much pride in her heritage. The use of dark magic had saved her life several times, allowing her to extend it until Severus could survive on his own. The magic of sacrifice, offering a bruise for a day, a broken bone for a year, had sustained her during her marriage to Tobias Snape.

He didn't know what he could teach them. The Upper years were established in mundane magics, but the younger ones wouldn't be able to understand the differences. Neither was he able to test them to see which of them had the capability. Finally, he decided to make a ritual on Halloween night that wasn't very strong to demonstrate what he wanted to teach.

Sitting in the Great Hall waiting for the feast to end, however, was torture. It was all he could do not to sneer at the décor. Terrible floating jack o' lanterns, tables covered in sweets, everything modern. There was nothing magical at all, only Muggle. And for what? So that the muggleborns could feel included? What a shame that they couldn't learn their own magical heritage. That was what he had to teach them. Granger was showing that it was indeed possible to integrate totally into the magical world, and if they brought them in before the age of eleven…

However, he was just one man without influence in the Wizengamot, just a professor and Potions Master.

In the years following the defeat of the Dark Lord, the magical world had almost been holding its breath. It was stagnant, waiting. He had also passed the years teaching idiots, doing nothing. He would be ashamed, if Slytherins could feel that. Now, he decided to change all of that.

Lucius had also been inactive. Most of his legislation languished in committee, even though Severus knew he could ram it through if he worked at it. Severus also knew other people of influence, some who had been Death Eaters, others who were Masters of their given profession.

Halfway through the feast, Quirrell, the ineffective buffoon, came barreling into the Great Hall screaming about a troll in the dungeons. Chaos reigned for a precious few minutes until Dumbledore shouted for quiet. When he ordered everyone back to their common rooms, though, his amusement evaporated. His students' common room was in the dungeons. With the troll. Was Dumbledore merely thoughtlessly senile or carelessly malicious?

Nevertheless, he signaled to Anatrix and the other seventh year prefect, Thomas Caplan, to take their House up another level into the library. Undoubtedly Albus wanted him to check up on his…investment.

Limping on the way back to the Slytherin dungeons after checking on Albus's toy and being bitten by another one of Hagrid's pets, Snape was cursing the school once again. He didn't exactly enjoy teaching, although he prided himself in keeping his Snakes safe in this deathtrap of a school.

It was nearing midnight by he time all the students were assembled together on the couches in the common room, some of the first years slumped together drowsing. Even the older students looked a bit worn from the excitement of the last few hours. There was only the sound of the low crackle of the fire in the grate and the squat cauldron he had set in the center of the room.

"Today is Halloween," he began in a quiet voice. "Samhain, the last day of the year in the old calendar. The day of the dead, the night when the veil that separates us from our ancestors in thinnest and some may, if they have the talent, may communicate with them."

He bit back a small smile as he glanced around at his students again. Draco looked ridiculous, keeled over with his mouth open on a couch arm. He was still painfully young and had been spoiled ridiculously by his mother and indulged by Lucius. He had the makings of a proper pureblood lord, if he hadn't been ruined by careless handling.

Hermione looked shaken but was holding it very well together. He had detected a bit of Gryffindor fire in her, which would hopefully sustain her in the kiln-like atmosphere of pureblood politics once he had introduced her properly.

Most of the others were barely awake, watching with disinterest, but Potter was watching him avidly, as he had during every weekly session. It was a bit disconcerting to see the image of his childhood nemesis hanging on to his every word. Anatrix similarly had the predictable sheaf of parchment and a quill poised for note-taking. Despite her painfully obvious mis-Sorting from Ravenclaw, she was a credit to the House. None of this year's Sixth years would easily replace her.

Snape gestured to the cauldron which was slowly beginning to boil. "Different families prepare an offering for the deceased in different ways. Some burn it in the hearth, other leave it on their stoop or in the forest at a shrine. Some scatter it on the waves. For obvious reasons, I prefer this way."

A handful of grins were his reward for that bit of levity, and he relaxed. "Unlike the highly legislated types of ceremonial magic that is used in warding, his magic is completely _personal._ If you should decide to pursue it, it can never be generic. Everything in this cauldron is pertenant to me and the blessed dead who have gone before me. For this reason, all of you will simply observe and not participate.

"Except—" he added, as he saw Potter's face fall, "Mr. Potter and Miss Prince." If Hermione were truly his niece, they would have ancestors, recent family in common. As for Potter—including the youngest in a tribute to the eldest was good luck, especially considering that Lily Evans was his primary motivation for this ritual on the anniversary of her death. He was not attached to his family, besides whatever status he could claim from them for his advantage.

Harry scampered over eagerly while Hermione followed at a more sedate pace. He arranged them on either side of the cauldron and murmured a brief prayer of blessing as he scattered salt from his store of supplies. It wasn't a circle; that level of preparation was unnecessary for the type of ceremony he intended, although his mother had taught him that cleansing the area was always a good habit.

Then, he began to speak, the incantation in the form of a prayer. It explained their purpose, half instruction and half spell work, a hallmark of an oral tradition. Very little of it was written down, and none of it reliably.

"We are here with these offering for the blessed dead of the house of Prince, and for Lily Potter, beloved of the House of Prince. We offer these gifts to you, out ancestors, in the hopes that you will guide us and give us your wisdom. Speak to us, and we will listen."

Here he paused by rote for a moment of ceremonial silence. The room was still, all the students seeming to hold their breaths, expecting something. In the decades he had performed this ritual, nothing had happened except a sense of fulfillment and connection to his family.

Then the cauldron began to boil rapidly, liquid and herbs almost jumping from the inside of it as the smoke and steam started to rise. He could feel them all around him, the hungry presence of the unattended dead, and Harry and Hermione grasped at him in fright.

There were voices, but he wasn't hearing them with his ears, and a feeling of being observed. Harry shivered against his side and whispered, "What do they want?"

Severus didn't answer, pulling them closer until the feeling of being watched slowly dissipated, the smoke thinning and drifting away. He realized that it had formed a rind around them, sealing them from the rest of the Slytherins.

"I will speak to you later," he quietly said to Harry and Hermione, who had finally let go of him and were standing beside him, faces pale. He answered a few questions about his supplies: dittany for spirits, Lily of the Valley, and others. He finally sent them to bed, although he knew he wasn't going to sleep for a while. He had much too much to think about.

* * *

**AN:: **I'm so very sorry that this is so late and so short, but the next chapter should be quite long. This bit was quite important to set up what I want to do with my version of the first book.

Quick note, I will not deny that I have been heavily influenced by a few fics, like _Oathbreaker, _and _Out of the Night, _but I am really trying to do something original and no plagiarism was intended. Go read them if you haven't.

I know Holmes is a fictional character, and Hermione knows this too, but a lot of people don't and believe he actually was a person.

I've had a few comments about Hermione, and it's a bit tedious constantly having to explain myself via the text (for those who can't accept the premise which is *stated in the summary*), so here's a quick rundown that I DM'd a commenter:

So much of magic directly contradicts muggle science and genetics that it would be easy to believe that never shall the twain meet, and she's eleven without a prodigious knowledge of science to begin with.  
The propaganda worked for what she wanted to believe at that moment, so it stuck. She did find the other stuff, but she discarded it because it didn't work for her wanting to feel exceptional. And let's face it, the "good guys" rarely do propaganda well. She's going to hold a lot of these beliefs for a least the majority of the story.  
As for her "love for fellow magical beings, etc"...her introduction to the wizarding world was via pureblood propaganda. She barely considers them sentient at this point. Her sense of justice and honor are directed towards different things as well.

Thanks for all the feedback and adds, I will hopefully have a new much longer chapter out soon! Besos!


	4. Chapter 4

**Filoque**

Chapter Four

Disclaimer the Fourth: I have a car payment.

There were no DADA classes the week following Halloween. Professor Quirrell was sick, according to the Headmaster who gave the announcement the next morning during breakfast. Harry wasn't paying much attention as he was still focused on the events of the previous night.

Snape had spoken with them that morning. He asked that they not speak with the other students about the particulars of what happened after the smoke rose around them. Harry surmised that what had happened had been…unexpected on the part of the Professor.

He had the obvious intention of allaying any fears that they might have, but Harry wasn't afraid anymore. At the time, it had been really scary, but after he had gotten over the shock of it, he was once again fascinated. Trick-or-treating couldn't compare to interacting with the dead even in such a limited fashion, not that he had ever been allowed to go trick-or-treating. He was sure that his mother had even been there with him for a moment.

He was already looking forward to whatever Professor Snape would show them next. Hermione had been more frightened by the experience, but she had set her jaw and gone to the library. When he questioned her about it, she said her family had never done those sorts of rituals, so it had been a new thing for her as well.

Meanwhile, Draco was trying to goad Harry into taking a dare to explore the third floor. Harry told him that if he wanted to know what was there so badly, he could always send his bookends there. Crabbe and Goyle never said anything about it, and so Harry supposed that Draco had forgotten all about it.

A few days later, though, and Draco came running back into the dorm room with the other two hot on his heels.

"What happened?" Harry asked him, seeing the fear on Draco's face.

"A dog…" He panted, shaking with anxiety. "A huge dog, with three heads, and teeth the size on my hand…"

Harry awkwardly patted him on his shoulder, mind racing. A three-headed dog? It sounded dangerous. Why would be there be something like that in a school full of children? He could imagine the stink Petunia would raise if something like that turned up in school with her precious Dudders.

"It was horrible, horrible," Draco repeated.

"I did tell you that it was a stupid idea," Harry reminded him a tad reproachfully. "The Headmaster said that anyone who went there would suffer a terrible death."

"I figured he was being funny," Draco whined, indignation helping him to overcome the shock. "You know, the whole 'Oddment! Blubber!' thing. Why would he put something so dangerous into a school anyways?"

Harry shrugged helplessly then said, "Hey, isn't your father on the board of governors?"

A nasty gleam filled Draco's eyes at that and he grinned. "Yes, he is. I'm suddenly feeling much better about all this."

Harry managed to make Draco wait until the next morning to send an owl to Lucius Malfoy, although it was difficult to get him to go to sleep. Draco kept giggling with a hysterical edge to his voice that was getting on his nerves.

He considered. He didn't actually know any sleeping spells, although he did know _Stupefy _and a nightmare curse. Hermione had been prattling on a few days before about how spells were invented and the way the language worked. Most curses weren't anything resembling Latin, but he though he couldn't hurt Draco too badly. "_Somnio," _he muttered, and Draco keeled over backward.

Blessed silence reigned.

* * *

Hermione had read every book the library had that looked useful. Nothing helped. Blood magic, even magic that called on spirits was totally forbidden. There was also very little information on magic using rituals. The restricted section was off-limits as Professor Snape maintained there was absolutely no legitimate reason for a First Year to have a pass, and it would have been beyond suspicious for her to owl-order anything.

In the end, she had no idea why the ritual had behaved as it had. She suspected that the Professor thought it was because she had been involved, having no connection to the called dead, the proverbial wrench in the works. She had a hunch that it wasn't, though. At worst, nothing should have happened. The whole ritual should have stopped, the cauldron filling with sludge as the energy dissipated. The opposite had happened.

Something had injected more energy into the ceremony than it could handle. Snape had implied that it was a fairly low-key deal, and the tiny bits of information she had been able to find corroborated that supposition. He hadn't even drawn a circle, step one in virtually all ceremonial magic. Something had messed with the ritual, something with more power than a thousand dead souls. The only thing that she could think to fit that description was beyond the realm of what the ceremony could do, and impossible to do at all, according to all the books.

The ritual must have called someone _alive._

"You're always in here," Pansy pouted as she flounced into the chair next to Hermione in the library.

Hermione blinked and looked up. "Well—" she stuttered, unsure of how to explain herself. "I like to read?"

Pansy huffed, but was easily distracted as always.

"So," she began. "Tell me your story. None of the girls know anything about you, and neither do the boys. Who are your parents? What about your uncle, Professor Snape? Why do you never hang out with up and are always here in the library? It's so boring!"

Hermione laughed at that. Pansy was just a girl after all, raised as a modern pureblooded witch, given anything she wanted. She didn't understand a person not wanting to talk about her life story, or how some things were meant to be private.

"Okay," she said. "Let's go to the others, and I'll tell all of you what you want to know."

She stood up and began to put her stack of books into her bag. Pansy was already on her feet and helped Hermione, following her out of the library and through the hallways of the castle. They walked toward the lake where Daphne and Millicent were waiting for them.

"I see that Pansy has forgotten the first rule again," Daphne said drily.

"I would like to think that I am discerning enough to tell when I'm being manipulated," Hermione shot back.

Millicent laughed aloud. "She's got you there, Greengrass."

Daphne scowled. "Well, are you going to tell us or not?"

"I will," Hermione said easily, settling herself down on the grass beneath one of the ancient oak trees that ringed the lake. "What do you want to know?"

"Your mother," Pansy said, flopping down beside her. Daphne sat down more sedately, and Millicent perched on a tree root.

"My mother," Hermione began slowly. "She was one of Professor Snape's cousins, and she was very young when she had me. She had married an American, pureblooded but very poor, an orphan with no money or holdings to his name. Her family didn't approve, so they cut her off. I never met my grandparents, actually…

"My father died when I was only a few years old, and my mother never quite recovered from it, or reconciled with her parents. When she died last summer, I didn't have any idea what to do, but my uncle brought my letter and offered to help me."

She continued to spin a fantastic tale of star-crossed loves, her mother dying of a broken heart. It wasn't too far from her cover story, after all, just with added soap-opera-esque drama. The other girls were lapping it up, even Daphne hanging on to her every word, starry-eyed by the romance of it all. She wanted to laugh. Her parents were Muggle dentists who had met at uni. They'd never won any awards or were particularly wealthy, as normal as any couple could be. The most impressive thing they'd ever done was birth her, a witch.

It felt a bit like fancy-dress, when she had been a child pretending to be a princess who had been kidnapped and was waiting for her real parents to come and rescue her. She had outgrown that fantasy by the time she had entered primary school, though, and this was deadly serious.

"Anyway," she finished. "Professor Snape has been very kind to me," she lied smoothly.

"Why do you call him Professor?" asked Pansy. "He's your uncle—well, second cousin, right?"

Hermione shrugged. "It wouldn't really be proper here, would it? And I wasn't at his estate long enough to become familiar enough with him to use his name."

"His estate?" Daphne asked interestedly. "I heard my father say he lived in some sort of Muggle hovel." Her lip curled, and Hermione floundered.

"Uh," she said, casting about for some response.

"I'm glad that he's behaving in a manner appropriate for his station," Daphne sniffed, and then gave Hermione the most patronizing smile possible. Hermione imagined wiping it off her face with a textbook. "Having responsibility for you must have inspired him to move past the young bachelor stage."

"I'm sure," Hermione said weakly, unsure as to whether or not to defend him. Millicent was giving her a sympathetic look while Pansy just looked oblivious. She made her excuses, mind spinning as she headed back into the dungeons.

They'd made a bit of work with her cover story, although Professor Snape hadn't seemed to put much effort into it. She suspected that he didn't quite remember how clever he himself had been when he was a First-Year Slytherin and was hugely underestimating their ability to figure out when things didn't quite add up.

Of course they would be curious about their Head of House! She felt silly for not even having thought about needing to learn about what he would be like to live with. He'd made vague noises about an estate, but nothing else. Surely he should have realized that she needed to know something about him as well. The man clearly valued his privacy, but he would be in even bigger trouble if it were found out that he was helping a mudblood pass herself off as a pureblood.

She would confront him about it the next day, she decided, dropping her books down next to her bed. She could share her findings with him too, provided she actually came up with any.

* * *

Severus Snape wasn't having much more luck than his faux-niece. Unlike the Hogwarts library, he did have a few applicable texts in his collection. His final guess was that the presence of a non-participant in the ritual caused things to go sideways, but as nothing of the sort was documented anywhere, it was anyone's guess.

He would eventually have to include her in his family; that was becoming clear. If only he'd thought this one through before he had acted on the ambitious impulse. He shook his head. Get through this year first, and see if it could be done. Put his head down and barrel through his seemingly insurmountable list of tasks to set this school and then the world to rights.

In that vein, he considered the owl he had received from Lucius that morning.

He had been honestly surprised to receive the missive regarding the Cerberus in the basement. While he had been expecting some of the more foolhardy Gryffindors or plain foolish Hufflepuffs to turn up missing limbs, he hadn't expected n of his own Slytherins to go sneaking about. He had the sudden urge to take points from his own House, but squashed it immediately. That the Slytherin would be Draco… He really must start to temper that impulsive nature. At least he had the presence of mind to turn the situation to his advantage.

He distinctly remembered a morning where Draco had sent off a letter looking sulky while Potter appeared self-satisfied. Perhaps Draco had been merely following Potter's lead. He groaned. And the boy had seemed so much more level-headed than his arrogant father. He would need to have words with him before he became out of control and dragged Draco down with him.

It was clever to try to use Lucius's position on the Board of Governors for something other than blatant favoritism and undermining the Headmaster. This was a legitimate complaint that would raise Lord Malfoy's position further. Somehow he doubted that had occurred to Draco. A childish fit of pique was the more likely cause, but one that Lucius had found a use for. Potter had looked awfully pleased, though…

Severus snarled. Even though he wanted some sort of retribution against the animal that Hagrid had set to guarding the trapdoor, it was valuable. Halloween has shown that, despite the foolishness inherent in keeping a key to bloody immortality where just anyone could take a crack at it. Lucius would just have to temper the impulse to stride in with loose ends still hanging, declaring Albus unfit for duty. Perhaps a formal inquiry? Dumbledore still had too many friends on the board, and even then , would Minerva really be preferable? She was painfully fair-minded, but he did not trust her not to be merely n extension of Dumbledore. There was not point in booting out Dumbledore without anyone to replace him, and wasn't he getting ahead of himself?

He used one of his usefully present Prefects and sent him off to find Potter. Best to nip this in the bud.

"Mr. Potter," he began as Potter lowered himself nervously into the chair across from him. "Do you have anything you would like to tell me?"

Harry frowned in apparent confusion. "No, sir…"

"So you were not wandering the corridors after curfew this past week?"

Harry wordlessly shook his head.

"Then what is this letter I have from a concerned parent mentioning a certain out-of-bounds corridor?"

Harry lit up. "Oh, did Mr. Malfoy write back? What did he say?"

Snape glared. "We are not discussing Mr. Malfoy, Potter. We are discussing you and your late-night excursions."

"But I didn't—" Harry's eyes cleared. "Professor Snape, I didn't go into that corridor, I just told Draco that his father might be interested in a deadly animal being kept in a school full of children, is all."

"Hmph," Snape said. His words had the ring of truth to them, even if he didn't believe them. "Very well," he conceded. "But rest assured that if I _do _have evidence of any troublemaking, I am quite capable of making your life miserable."

Harry's only response was a brilliant smile as Severus dismissed him. Snape watched him go, tripping over untied shoelaces. The state of his trainers really was disgraceful, and what was another task on his already overwhelming to-do list? They had an image to uphold.

* * *

**AN: **Thoughts? Questions? Not as long as I had wanted, but much quicker than the last time. Ojalá que os guste, and please comment! Snape's not exactly experienced with playing chess off a board, but he'll get the hang of it eventually with the help of a few old business associates.


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